


Death Or Glory

by red_starshine



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunken Kissing, M/M, Mucous Membrane, Punk Rock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_starshine/pseuds/red_starshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the road with Mucous Membrane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Or Glory

**Author's Note:**

> For xlmonsterchildlx’s prompt of ‘Roadie!Chas on tour with Mucous Membrane being seduced by Punk!John after a particularly decent show and mucho drinks after.’ Thanks so much for the awesome prompt, xlmonsterchildlx!

Chas didn’t like punk music very much. He’d listened to Green Day in high school and his first girlfriend had got him ‘London Calling’ by The Clash on CD for his birthday, and he thought those were all right, but punk as a whole just left him cold.

Which probably meant it was ironic he was the sole roadie for Mucous Membrane, a British punk rock group whose lead singer John  Constantine practically worshipped the Sex Pistols, and Chas had the pleasure of hearing them play almost every single night.

John was also the one who’d given him with the nickname ‘Chas’. John’s face had lit up when Ritchie had first introduced him to John as Frank Chandler: “Like Chas Chandler?”

“Who?"

“Jimi Hendrix’s manager. He was the original bass player for the Animals before that.”

“I’ve never heard of that band.”

“Bull, I’d bet you’ve heard at least one of their songs. Uh, ‘Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood’?”

Frank shook his head. “I don’t listen to classic rock much.”

“’The House of The Rising Sun’? Their version’s the most famous.”

That one did sound slightly familiar. “Uh, ’there is a house in New Orleans’...?” He said unsurely, trailing off.

“’That they call the Rising Sun,’” John finished, singing the rest of the line. “’And it's been the ruin of many a young poor boy, and, God, I know I'm one.’”

To Frank’s surprise, John’s voice actually sounded much better when he wasn’t screaming about the Venus of the Hardsell at the top of his lungs.

Oblivious to Frank’s thoughts, John gave him a quick grin. “Yeah, that’s them. See, I knew you’d heard of ‘em, Chas.”

“It’s Frank.”

John gave him a shit-eating grin. “Nah. Chas is better.”

Chas eventually admitted that it was.

***

Most of the places Mucous Membrane got booked at were cramped dive bars with absurdly small stages behind chicken-wire and electrical wiring that was older than his father. Chas’d lost count of the times he’d browned out the building just trying to plug in the band’s amps. One of his fears was that he’d indadvertedly start an electrical fire in one of those bars and burn the place down with him inside it.

But every so often they managed to land a gig that paid well. Tonight, they were at a bar just outside of Boston that would be paying an unbelievable amount of money to have the privilege of letting a shitty punk band from England play on their stage.

A shitty punk band that was steadily burning through the small advance they’d received from the one record label that hadn’t immediately sent back their demo tape with a scalding rejection letter.

It was amazing how much better the band sounded when they had the promise of a large sum of money to motivate them. They still weren’t that great, or even just mediocre, but at least it wasn’t like some gigs where it sounded as if the band had never even met each other before getting up onstage to play. The audience in the bar seemed to like John's screaming vocals and the blisteringly fast tempo of their songs, and for the first time in several shows Mucous Membrane got to play their encore, a rough and aggressive cover of ‘If You Leave Me Now’ by Chicago that oozed with disdain. Chas had suggested it as a joke after his first show as a roadie, but the band had run with it. The tip bucket (a sad-looking dented metal bucket spotted in rust with ‘TIP US OR ELSE’ scrawled across it) actually had a decent amount of bills in it when Chas took it backstage after the show. After the manager coughed up their payment in cash, Chas quickly worked on splitting it up.

When John took his share of the money, he looked surprised as he leafed through the bills. “This...you sure you counted this out right?”

“Yup.”

"Fuckin' great." John grinned toothily, folding the bills and sliding them into the back pocket of his dark torn jeans. “Buy you a drink then, mate?”

“Wouldn’t say no to that.” Chas looked at the band’s equipment still up on stage. “Just gimmie an hour to get everything in the van first.”

***

It was closer to two hours by the time Chas locked up the van and headed back into the bar. The number of patrons had dwindled drastically, leaving only a few people scattered around the bar. Chas spied John’s distinctive spiked blond hair and black leather jacket with silver studs dotting the collar still hunched over the bar. The rest of the band was nowhere to be seen. A half-empty glass was at his elbow, and the way John almost fell off his stool when Chas clapped his shoulder made him suspect it was far from his first one.

“Last call’s in half an hour,” John loudly grumbled as Chas took the seat next to him. “Bloody 2 AM, can you believe it? Barely enough time to get a man good and drunk.” He flagged down the bartender and ordered a beer for Chas. 

“So where’d Gary, Les and Beano end up?” asked Chas.

John shrugged. “They left an hour ago. Dunno exactly where they are. Sure they’ll turn up in the morning ‘fore we have to leave for...” John trailed off. “Where’s the next gig again?”

Chas’s beer arrived. “Pennsylvania,” he said.

“And how long a drive is that from here?”

Chas chugged about half of his beer before responding. “About six hours.”

John winced. "Bloody hell."

“Yeah,” said Chas and then took another gulp of beer. “Hope you brought a book.”

“Depends. Does the Grimorium Verum count?”

Chas shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe you’re into all that mystical mumbo-jumbo ‘master of the dark arts’ crap. You know that shit doesn’t work.”

“What, magic? That’s fuckin’ real, mate” John chuckled, but his eyes nearly glowed in the dim light of the bar. “Could show you some right now. It’s not difficult, if you know what you’re doing.”

Chas rolled his eyes and raised his glass to his lips. “Maybe some other time.”

***

Chas helped John to the van in the alley behind the bar after last call. The band had gotten a room at the cheapest motel in town, which looked as if nothing had been cleaned since the 1970s and had full-length mirrors suspended over the beds. Squeezing all five of them into one room with two smelly twin beds was something Chas wasn’t in a rush to get back to. Honestly, he’d be content spending the night in the van.

John was still struggling to buckle the seatbelt when Chas opened up the driver’s side door. After a minute of watching John fumble with the buckle, Chas sighed and bent over, taking the seatbelt buckle from John and slid it into the latch.

John looked down at Chas with a wide grin on his face, his cheeks slightly flushed. He looked very pleased with himself.

Chas froze, his hand still above the seat belt. He felt as though he’d missed something important. “What?”

John slid his fingers through Chas’s hair, his eyes half-lidded. “You know, you’re a pretty attractive man, Chas. Even if you are a ruddy giant.”

“Thanks?”

John laughed, covering his face with one hand. “Jesus. Listen to me, sounding like a simpering little schoolboy with his first crush.”

Chas said nothing, more out of curiosity of what John would say next.

“You are handsome, though,” John said softly, leaning over to Chas. He lightly ran one hand down Chas’s cheek, and Chas found himself leaning into his touch, craving more.

When John kissed him, it felt like a bolt of lightening had struck him, electricity flowing down every nerve, nearly drowning him in a sea of pleasure.

Just the briefest touch of John’s lips against his skin was enough to get his heart racing. God, it frightened him, how good it felt.

“Did you put a spell on me?” Chas asked as John lightly nuzzled against his neck. “To make me feel this way?”

“’Course not,” murmured John. He pulled away slightly, just enough so he could meet Chas’s eyes. “Love spells are for amateurs and sad old bastards tired of wankin’ off every night.”

“Then wh--?”

John pressed a finger to Chas’s lips, stopping the words in his throat. He looked wickedly amused. “Some things you don’t need rituals and incantations for, Chas. This is just a different kind of magic.”

Maybe he was right. This was John’s real power after all; his talent for drawing almost anyone to his side like moths to a flickering light. John was luminous and more than a little dangerous, the threat of burning pain growing larger the closer you came.

It wouldn’t be easy. It would hurt. Chas could clearly see that.

But he still couldn’t take his eyes off John.

 


End file.
